I glanced at my phone, then back up at Gilpatrick. "Sorry, but I've got to take this." When he waved me away with his fork, I extricated myself from our table, left my gear and my food there, and wandered over to the closed dining room. "Good Afternoon, Mister Perez, this is Nelson Samuels speaking."

"Good Afternoon, Scholar Samuels. I trust you remain well?"

"I do. Yourself?"

He sighed, "as well as always. I'm looking forward to our meeting overmorrow."

I wasn't quite sure what to say about that, so I decided to go with the safe, "I am as well, sir."

"Hmm... well, I'm calling to inform you that should you find yourself at loose ends tomorrow, I'll be arriving a day early."

I tried to hide my reaction, and managed to keep it to a simple, "I'll keep that in mind, sir. I hope I haven't disturbed your schedule?"

"Oh, no. I found myself at loose ends up here in New York City, and when I researched the town we'll be meeting it, I discovered much to my delight that it is, in fact, the largest farming town in the Garden State." He paused, and I caught an undercurrent of genuine excitement in his voice. "How could I not take a day to visit?"

"You're into agriculture then, Mister Perez?"

"In a manner of speaking. My passion, specifically, is gardening. But over the course of human history the two fields of endeavor have time and again influenced one another. Usually to the benefit of both. So of course I can't resist coming to see the largest farming town in the Garden State."

I thought about what I'd seen driving down. "Uh, are you driving?"

"Of course. I dislike planes. Beside, I'd still need to drive from the nearest airport, and between security and such, I'd likely save no time at all."

I nodded, feeling a little silly knowing he couldn't see me, but some bits of body language were too ingrained to stop. "Okay then, you'll probably want to come down two ninety five to fifty five, then get off somewhere south of Glassboro. That ought to route you past a bunch of farmer's markets or fruit stands or whatever. A couple ranches, too."

I practically felt his suppressed scoff. "Ranches do not interest me, young man. Although you've never stated you have an interest in gardening, so I suppose I can see your confusion. Pardon my dismissive words, if you will."

"Hey, no problem. I just figured you'd want to come that way instead of down the coast. Nothing on that side but military bases, casinos, and pine barrens."

"Well. Good to know. Far too high a likelihood of meeting..." He trailed off, then started again. "Never mind that, I thank you for the advice then, Scholar Samuels, and barring a call from you that you're free tomorrow, I look forward to our meeting in person overmorrow."

He hung up, and I walked back to our table and slid back into my seat. A young Hispanic guy stood there, absolutely gushing over Gilpatrick.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"It's such an honor to meet you, sir! Such an honor! I've always wanted to meet a real live Super Hero!"

Gilpatrick smiled, shaking his head. "Thank you, Carlos. I'm flattered. But really? There are a lot of Supers out there who are way more 'Super' than me." He stopped, then scraped his spoon around the inside of the empty mac and cheese bowl. "Cooks who can do this with Mac and Cheese, though? I mean, this level of culinary mastery? You, my friend, are absolutely my Hero."

Some folks think that brown folks don't blush. I can tell you, even if I hadn't done so before I definitely had blushed plenty talking with Gilpatrick. We do, just like anybody else. But depending on the details of our skin tone, it can be anywhere from a little to a lot hard to see. That's why the full on deep red blush in Carlos' cheeks was a hell of an accomplishment. I mean, I'm not surprised that Gilpatrick could do it, but it still impressed me nonetheless.

"So, Carlos; I'm absolutely certain that this was as much skill as recipe, I'd still love to hear how you did it."

Carlos' head bobbed like a bobblehead as he spoke; I tucked into my half of the Bourbon Bacon Burger. I had to pay attention to keep myself from wearing half the sauce, and while it wasn't as good as the Mac and Cheese? It was way better than I expected from a chain diner. "I start out with three parts Extra Sharp Cheddar, one part Monterey Jack, one part Mozzarella. I melt them all over low heat, just enough to get them liquid. Meanwhile in another pot I start an even mix of Cream and Flour, cooking it down while the cheeses melt. In another pot I mix four parts Heavy Cream with one part each Parmesan and Romano, then a little bit, maybe a quarter teaspoon, of ground chipotle, honey, and powdered bacon."

"Powdered Bacon?" Gilpatrick raised an eyebrow. "You mean that premade fake bacon stuff?"

Carlos looked like Gilpatrick had just pissed in the bowl. "NO! No, no, no, I make the bacon, cook it nice and crispy. Almost burned, but not burned, until you can crumble it, see?"

Gilpatrick nodded. "Go on."

"Then I put it in the..." he paused, clearly looking for a word. "The pestle? The mortar? I grind it up. patting it dry every so often with a towel, until it's a fine powder."

"Damn, son. That's some dedication there." He looked down at his empty bowl. "Damn me if it isn't worth it though."

"It is! So, once the Parmesan and Romano is not grainy, and the Cream and Flour are running, and the cheeses are all melted? I put another measure of the Heavy Cream in the cheeses, then mix all three together and start the pasta boiling."

"You make the pasta yourself?"

Carlos nodded with a little throwaway gesture. "Yeah, yeah, I put a pinch of sea salt and a tablespoon of good olive oil in the water too. Then, I stir the sauce while the pasta cooks. When it's al dente, I pour it in the bowl, pour the sauce over it, put it in the oven for... ten to twenty. Depends on the day, the weather. Then when I pull it out I torch any part of the top that's not crispy yet."

Gilpatrick repeated, "dedicaction." Then he paused, waved Carlos in close. "You know you're wasted here, right?"

Carlos shrugged. "It pays the bills. Until I'm ready."

"Ready for?"

"It's a secret."

Gilpatrick just smiled. "Okay, okay, keep your secrets, food wizard. But... seriously?" He waited for Carlos to nod. "Don't wait too long. You'll keep telling yourself that you just need a little more, one more thing, just a little better. Then one day you'll wake up and realize that you're too old. That you can't taste those tiny differences in ingredients that make the difference between good enough and heavenly. You feel me?"

"Si." Carlos nodded, looking thoughtful. "Can... Can I ask you a favor?"

"Name it."

"Can I get... what's it called? An endorsement from you? Like, put it on my ads that you like my food?"

Gilpatrick smiled. "You want me to do a commercial for you?"

Carlos shook his head. "No, no, no, I can't afford that. I mean, yes, I'd love it, once I have the money, but... it'll take every dime I have just to give it my best go."

Gilpatrick waved Carlos down again. When he was within whispering distance, Gilpatrick quietly said, "tell you what. The endorsement? You got it. Same with the commercial, when you're ready. I don't even need any money for it; getting people to try your food is just a public service. Like Heroes do. But..."

"But?"

"I get a bowl of that mac any time you and I meet up. Fair?"

I don't think I've ever seen a guy that happy to make food for somebody else in my life.